Read this: By Jesse Maceo Vega-Frey
“For these little pigs?” Mr. Whitmore glanced back at the animals still snorting beside him at the fence. “You don’t need a gun for them,” he nodded toward them and cracked a smile. “You could probably just choke ’em,” he chuckled, grabbing the air solidly with his hands. We smiled and shuffled our feet, embarrassed, and explained our situation.